Hate to Love
by Raiu-the-dark
Summary: Draco and Hermione are paired up in DADA. Will Draco be able to convince himself that destroying muggle borns is the wrong thing to do? Or will his unknown love for Hermione be masked as hatred, causing him to turn the wand on her?
1. Chapter 1

'This can't be all I am good for,' thought the Slytherin, starring down at the broom beside him. Slowly, he scan his eyes down the smooth black Nimbus 2001, the end of the even bristles came to an angular point, in order to increase speed. He smirked at his own dismal demeanor, remembering that he had never even actually earned his way on to the Quidditch team… his father donated the brooms in order to allow his son to join Slytherin Quidditch. It was quite pathetic really, that all of his past success had been on account of his father's own personal whims. He remembered the conversation they had had back before 2nd year.

"_Boy?" Lucius Malfoy sat his black leather arm chair in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He held a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ before his face, and his voice seemed only slightly interested. _

_Draco rigidly strode over to his father. "Yes father?"_

"_In my days at Hogwarts, I played on the Slytherin Quidditch team," _

"_I know father," Draco knew exactly where Lucius was going. He was not certain that he would be able to live up to whatever task he had for him. _

"_I have been thinking… if Potter can do it, so can you. I'm signing you up next year," said Lucius casually, still continuing to read his newspaper as he spoke._

"_B-but Father, Quidditch is not something that someone can merely _sign _up for… there are tryouts, and then—"_

"_Then try out… I want you to be remembered at that school. You practically blend in with the wallpaper," _

_Lucius was always bullying his son with his scarring words. However, over the years, Draco had become very immune to any insult father could lob at him. He had learned to take it, and he had learned to do everything he could to please father, and perhaps receive even the slightest amount of praise from him from time to time. "Praise" according to the Malfoys could be considered even the lightest of things such as "I've seen others do loads better, but I suppose it will do," or "It's a good thing you passed all of your classes, because I do not wish to pay for another year at Hogwarts with that _man_ in charge." These phrases were considered "Praise" because it was given so stingily in their environment. _

"_And son," Lucius finally glanced up from his newspaper. _

"_Yes, father?" _

"_We Malfoys are not mere _'someones'._ I promise that you will be on that team," _

_Now, one might assume that Mr. Malfoy has just complimented his son… perhaps he is not such a harsh man after all, but further examination proves that Lucius was actually complimenting himself on his well known, and feared name. Draco just so happens to also be a Malfoy, and therefore, it appears that he too has been given praise from Father, when in fact, Lucius had barley noticed his son's presence._

"_Thank you, Father," _

"_Good, now why don't you go in the courtyard with your broom, and practice for a bit. I'd like my son to look good out on the field," _

_When Draco hesitated, Mr. Malfoy once again looked up from his paper, and glared at the lad. "I can't have you just standing there staring at me, go outside, boy, I'm busy." _

_Evidently, the cover story of the _Daily Prophet_ was more important to Lucius than his own son was. _

Now, Draco was soaking out this age old despair on the pitch. The lad was on his first day as a seventh year, and had felt the need to sneak away from that evening's homecoming feast. He did not need anyone else to see him in such deep thought, especially not so early on in the year. No one could know of any possible Malfoy regrets. It was entirely out of their character.

Ever since the tender age of about eight years old, Draco had almost became robotic when speaking to his father. This was the Malfoy way. It was "Yes father," this, and "Thank you father," that. Sometimes it appeared that Draco took a good part of his anger out on others, such as the Potter gang; but he hardly thought his quarrels towards them were undeserving. A man is aloud to have a sworn enemy now and then, right?

A light drizzle began to fall. Draco ignored it, and mounted his broom. Lazily, he flew throughout the field, too wound up and weary to actually practice with a snitch. More to the point, he felt a headache coming on; he did not want to think anymore at the moment.

Besides, he had more than enough reasons to despise each and every one of those bloody stupid bloques. The Weasel was not only dirt poor, but each of their blood relations had been sworn enemies ever since as long as Draco could remember. It was kind of like Romeo and Juliet… except for the part where they were both men and they detested each other. So there was no problem there. Besides, Weasel's father worked with muggle gadgets and had a sort of unhealthy Muggle fixation… the whole idea itself made Draco want to wretch.

Speaking of Muggles… the Mudblood. Little Miss Know-it-all thinks she deserves to take up even an inch of space in Hogwarts. Her bloody muggle parents, and her bloody straight A's made Draco simply cringe every time he thought about it. Draco had always wondered, Mudblood must have felt a bloody lot more inferior when compared to purebloods, and even the half bloods. When Granger came to Hogwarts… that must have been why she studied so hard. But even so, when it comes down to the accuracy of spells, you cannot match books and brains with the _real_ magical bloods such as himself.

And Potter. If anyone even got him started on the wonderful magnificent stupendous marvelous bloody "boy who lived", he would not be able to stop… you know, when he met the little bastard in the robe shop, he tried to make nice with him. Sure, father had shown him the blueprints of a diabolical plan arranging Potty's death before they had even met, and sure, Draco was to be involved in the plan in order to gain Potter's trust; by inviting him over, and hand him to Lucius, but how on earth could the twit have known that? He merely swept Draco's offering of friendship into the waste bin, because he had _better_ friends… a bloody impoverished red head, and a bucktoothed muggleborn. Oh, right, because normal people choose 3rd rate losers for their friends over someone holding one of the most powerful names on the face of the wizarding planet.

Either way, once Potty denied his hand in friendship, Draco knew that he could not go on pretending that he wanted to indeed, 'make nice'. He had to keep at least a shred of his young dignity in tact, and so that was when he decided to become enemies with Potter. Oh, he remembered Father's rage. The owl he sent back, once Draco had stated that the plan was a failure, and he would have to find another way to kill Potter, was an unbelievably livid one. Father was far too clever to send a howler. The entire school would find out about the plan that way. But if howlers came with headphones, Draco was certain he would have received one of those lovely red envelopes.

For months, father persisted. In one of his letters he wrote "_I do_ not _care what you do to make up with the boy, but do it, so long as the Malfoy pride is kept in tact," _This had been one of the only times that Draco had dared talk back to his father, perhaps because he was hundreds of miles away, and Draco was in the middle of nowhere. Besides, he had mouthed back in pen form. Most families would not consider Draco's reply as an insolent remark; most families would call it telling the truth. However the Malfoy's were not like most families. Draco had written; "_Father, there is no possible force on this _earth _that will enable me to become friends with Potty Potter, and keep Malfoy pride at the same time." _Lucius did not return an owl for almost a month after that. He believed that one of the keys to good parenting was to use certain disciplinary tactics on the child that others may find iniquitous. When Draco misbehaved, Lucius and Narcissa were often found ignoring their son for a number of weeks, and sometimes even months. During these times, sitting at the dinner table was often an eternity of torment.

"_Mother, please pass the salt," Draco would say. Narcissa, refusing to even make eye contact with her son, would push the salt his way. _

"_Thank you, Mother," No response. "Father?" Lucius would rebuff the acknowledgement of his son's existence. "Father, I was wondering if perhaps you would be able to take a look at my _Transfiguration_ summer homework assignment. I was not quite clear on part of one of the chapters—" Lucius would cough, covering the rest of whatever else Draco might have had to say. _

Narcissa had not always been like this. Lucius had made her this way. Draco remembered her smile. It was warm, and sincere. He could not remember the last time he had witnessed that smile. She was a robot as well; Lucius had transformed both his son and his wife into forlorn, uncouth robots. It was as though he had taken each of their souls, and hid them in a pretty little box somewhere, and only not even he remembered where he hid the box.

Speaking of which, Draco remembered his recently appointed duties.

"_You mean… I will be having to help kill people? Help—"_

"_Draco, my boy; do _not_ think of this as killing… you are merely helping keep the societal balance between muggles and wizards. Perhaps you would like to call it… a sort of natural selection, if you will…"_

"_But father—" _

"_Draco," Lucius' voice was that of disillusioned syrupiness. "The idea of muggleborns is unfair when one looks at it in the right way… think about it… those Mudbloods are taking up the same space as you do in the classroom! They have the same opportunities that _you _as a respectable pureblood have, and they will be taking your generation of purebloods' jobs, as well, once you graduate Hogwarts. Think about how unfair that is to you, my boy,"_

"_I do understand that father…" Draco began, "and I agree with you fully… however, I do not see why we must kill them… why can we not put them to good use… perhaps we can… I do not know… make slaves of them, or something?"_

_The look on Lucius' face changed from poorly masked rage, to overflowing pride. "Draco! You truly do take after your father, with those ideas in your head!" he looked as though he were about to cry with happiness. _

_Draco smiled as well. He had just received an extraordinarily unusual accolade from his father! The only thing on this planet that Lucius thought more of than the Dark Lord, was Lucius himself… so receiving a comparison between himself and Draco was the largest sort of compliment he could have given. _

_Lucius continued to smile. "You shall make a _fine_ Deatheater!" Another compliment! Two in a row! Perhaps if the only way to receive praise from his father was to gang up on an already abhorrent kind, and deal with them accordingly, then that was what Draco would have to do. _

Draco knew that these feelings were bittersweet. He reviled Mudbloods as much as the next sane bloque did, but he had never killed, or been any part of killing any human, ever before. He knew that after awhile, his mind would become immune to the sight of death, and he knew this was for the better, but frankly, he was frightened.

Though it would take even more than the world's ceasing its rotary for Draco to ever admit such a thing to anyone, the thought of being the cause of another's death made him shudder inside. It would make father happy though. Perhaps if he stuck it out for the first week or so, he would slowly get used to the sight of fatality, used to the smell of blood on his hands, and used to the thought of killing becoming an instinct. Perhaps it would not be so bad. And to put the cherry on top of the Sunday, not only would they rid the world of that frizzy Mudblood, but her best friend Potty was on the Deatheaters' extermination list, as well. A guilty sense of pride welled within him when he thought of being a part of that.

Feeling slightly better, Draco landed his broom smoothly on the Quidditch pitch. He realized that he now felt content enough to go in for dinner. There was only two more months until the two week winter holiday; when Draco would return home, and train to eventually become a feared Deatheater.

To be feared was not a bad thing…not a bad thing at all. 'After all, father had been let off on all charges against him, mainly because he was so powerful, and feared. Draco strongly believed that any act of evil he could ever be prosecuted for, he would be let off, just as easily as his father had. His name alone did half of the work, Lucius might do a quarter of the work, and Draco's own Magic Charm would take care of the rest. Even if he happened to be a robot, he was a respectable robot, and that was all he needed right now.

By the time he had reached the great hall, suppertime was already half finished. He sat down beside Goyle, and Blaise. Blaise's father struck up some sort of business deal with Draco's father over the summer, giving Draco and Blaise time to get to know eachother better. Blaise was quite like Draco himself; he had a powerful father figure sharing similar views, a meek, unhappy mother, and were both filthy rich… so the boys bonded over a few weeks when the Zabini's stayed at Malfoy Manor. They raced on their brooms, blew things up, terrorized the passersby, and whatnot. Mr. Zabini happened to work in the same special firm as Mr. Malfoy… here meaning… they both were high men within the dealings of the Dark Lord.

Besides all that, Crabbe and Goyle were thicker than ogres, both physically, and mentally, so Blaise was really the only person Draco could really have an intelligent conversation with.

"Where've you been? Goyle ate your share," said Blaise, as Draco sat down.

"Stupid twit," said Draco, elbowing the beastly thug beside him. "How many times do I have to tell you to keep your own bloody hands on your own bloody plate!"

Goyle looked down, ashamed, and confused. "Sorry, Malfoy,"

"Shut up," said Draco, smirking at Blaise. He had become increasingly nasty to his cronies, now that he had someone of at least normal acumen to laugh along with. Though it would take a very small effort, on Draco's part, to scoop more food onto his plate from the serving trays, he chose not to; in order to lengthen Goyle's shame. He tended to pick on his lackeys until Potter and friends came along. Then it was a free for all showdown. Though most of the other Slytherins merely laughed at Draco's snide remarks, and rolled their eye's at the Gryffindors', it was good to have even some sort of minimal support.

"So Malfoy," said Blaise, once poking fun at Goyle lost its short lived edge, for the moment, "You seen Parkinson since school started?"

"No, why?" Draco did not have the slightest idea why Blaise would even bring up that unsightly disproportioned ogre, especially after he caught her in the closet last year, making out with that scrawny little Ravenclaw fourth year.

"Over the summer, she traded in her mosquito bites, for a generous pair of cantaloupe. Dr. Palky's work… I would presume. I have heard the girls talk about her before. Supposedly, she does wonders with her spells for the unfortunate looking witch or wizard,"

Draco's solemn face morphed into a sly grin. "Certainly," he peered down the table to find the beast and her new feminine guns. "But I do not see why this doctor did not bother to fix the rest of her… I would sue if I were Pansy; she still appears unfortunate looking to me."

"Indeed," said Blaise, "Perhaps Dr. Palky needs her eyes checked, if she thinks she has worked wonders," the two young lads chuckled for a moment, and Draco's thugs joining in, though neither had been paying any attention to what Draco and Blaise had been talking about, for food was still present.

Draco Malfoy believed that being a respectable robot was enough. He _thought_ that although he had troubles, they would eventually resolve themselves; and he _thought_ that his family views were often strict, and difficult to deal with, but they were right. He _thought_ he was as happy as he could ever be. However… Draco Malfoy was not happy… anyone with a brain in their skull could see that. And he had not settled to believe the views of his family. But not even Draco knew that. He would have to face many hardships this year, and he would have to make many gut wrenching decisions. Draco had no idea what sort of year he was about to face, but he was about to get a sneak peek; the very moment he walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts, that Monday morning, on the first day classes resumed.

There it is, the first chapter! I apologize if for any reason anyone might have been offended by anything mentioned, however, I assure you that _I_ myself, do not agree with Malfoy's prejudice views… just to clear that up. Also, I would like to remind everyone that this will, in fact, be a D/Hr, however, the thing that I absolutely despise most about fanfictions is when people allow the characters to fall… out of character! I have been writing for 11 years (since I was six), and it is my biggest pet peeve to see a character such as Draco to be all sappy dappy in the first chapter… or _ever_, for that matter. So I truly hope that so far, I have done my part in keeping Draco Malfoy as characteristically accurate as I possibly can make him! That is why Hermione has not even physically shown up yet in the chapter… but do not fret! She shall appear in the next chapter! And believe you me, Draco and Hermione will hate each other for quite awhile! Their reasoning later for not hating each other shall be revealed later! So, have patience. There shall not be sap!

Becca


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry about the wait!

Hey, I realized a mistake I made in the last chapter... when Draco was thinking that there was only two more months left until winter break, that was incorrect. It was the students' first day of school, so technically, they would not have winter break for at least three or four months. Sorry! I do not know exactly how to fix that yet. And Deatheater is Death Eater… isn't it? Er… sorry about that too! runs away in shame 

**Unpleasant Surprises**

Lazily, Blaise held his schedule before his face, evaluating its contents. He sat in a slouched position on one of the deep green sofas of the Slytherin common room. It was quite early in the morning, so there where very few other Slytherins hanging about. A minute or two passed, and Draco blearily sauntered out of the boy's prefect dormitories. He was carefully polishing his prefect badge, which had already been neatly placed beside his Slytherin badge on his robes. He made his way over to Blaise, and sat across the coffee table in an emerald armchair, tossing his legs over one armrest, and resting his back against the other.

He glanced at Blaise expectantly. He must have felt Draco's look, because he said, "Well, we have Ancient Ruins and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, Divination and Magical Studies with the Ravenclaws… and Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, _and_ Astronomy with the Gryffs."

"Bloody fantastic!" said Draco, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "Another Potty filled year! That's all I need… what do we have today, anyway?"

"Where is your schedule?" asked Blaise.

"It's in my bag," said Draco flatly.

"Well, where is your bag?"

"Its in my bloody dormitory with my books! Can't you just tell me what the hell we have today?" Those who knew Draco well, knew that he was not particularly fond of mornings. He was often found to be even tetchier than usual in the earlier hours of the day.

Other than the imperceptible lift of an eyebrow, Blaise was unphased by Draco's present mood. "Today," he said, "We have Divination, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions…"

"Even more wonderful… double Gryffs in the afternoon," Draco began to jadedly pull at a piece of slack material attached to the chair he sat in. "Wait… we have to take Ancient Ruins?"

Blaise nodded dejectedly. "Unfortunately, if you have not taken it before, it is a required seventh year class,"

"Why? Who cares? They're ancient! Whatever happened with them happened years ago… why do we need to know about it?"

Blaise shrugged. Draco glowered. After a few more minutes, Crabbe and Goyle trudged out of the boy's dormitories. For some reason, a humorous image of Goyle crouching down over an ancient vase, while scrutinizing it with a magnifying glass materialized in his head, causing him to snort in bitter mirth. The mere thought of Crabbe and Goyle studying ancient ruins was unbelievable. However, the funniest part about the whole thing was once the goons realized that Draco had begun to laugh, they joined in, as usual, obviously having no idea that Draco was amused by their own idiocy.

Blaise raised his eyebrow, as he so often did; he would not even bother asking. "Er… shall we go up to breakfast then?" tried Blaise.

"Does McGonagall do this on purpose?" Ron Weasley sat in the Great Hall, holding his schedule in front of his porridge.

"Do what?" asked Harry, picking up his schedule as well. He knew exactly what Ron meant, the very moment his eyes fell onto the page. "Oh… Potions with the Slytherins… again,"

"Not _just_ Potions Harry… We've got Defense Against the Dark Arts and Astronomy with them, as well,"

"Well, we only have Astronomy once a week, the way it is…" Harry laid his schedule back down, not wanting to think anymore about his last year at Hogwarts. He was as glad as ever that he, indeed, decided to come back, however; he kept remembering that this year was seventh year… after this, people would begin to expect more and more out of him. It was not the fact that he had to stick his head out into the world and get a successful wizarding job, a wife, children and so on… everyone would have to do that. It was merely… once everything at Hogwarts was said and done, he would have to begin working on something that he really did not want to. He had to defeat the Dark Lord… Horcruxes were constantly on his mind. Meanwhile, the only wizarding job that had even sparked his interest was that of an Auror. So, if Harry could manage Hermione's grades for the next nine months, while he found and destroyed all of these well hidden Horcruxes, without the help of Dumbledore, he was set.

Granted, the very moment Harry returned to Hogwarts, he went up to Dumbledore's old office, now occupied by McGonagall, and waited for Dumbledore to come back to his empty portrait. Once Dumbledore returned, Harry began to shower him with questions pertaining to what he should do. Unfortunately, the portrait had little advice to offer. He told Harry to follow his heart, and to do his best. Harry demanded that Dumbledore go back to being honest with him, even if he was dead. McGonagall, who had been observing the situation, with a grave face of regret, told Harry that the Dumbledore in the portrait was not the true Dumbledore he knew. This was merely a representation of Dumbledore, with the ability to respond as Dumbledore would on matters, and also to mock Dumbledore's personality. Because neither his soul, nor his mind was actually contained within the portrait, it could not have possibly had any helpful answers to any of Harry's desperate questions. "Do not be unhappy dear boy," Dumbledore had consoled. "Have a lemon drop."

"It doesn't matter that its only once a week, its an hour and a half longer that we would have to spend with the Slytherins, otherwise!" said Ron, pulling Harry back to reality, as he folded his schedule in half and tossed it on the table. "Hermione, why are you smiling?"

Hermione, too had been looking at her schedule. "Its just that I thought you would be more cheerful this morning, seeing as it is your first day as Head Boy and all."

Ron smiled slightly. "Your keep thinking of more ways to bring that up don't you…"

"Well, I'm just proud of you is all—"

"_Or_, you are _really_ just trying to think of ways to bring up your _own_ stature as head girl…"

"Oh please, Ronald! Do you have to take every compliment I give you and turn it into an insult towards me?"

"_Me?_ I'm telling the truth is all… I'm sorry that you get so easily offended by the truth," Ron glared at Hermione, waiting for a response, however she merely scowled, and turned her head.

"Oh, now you think you are too good to talk to me—"

"I never said that—"

"Er—" Harry attempted to cut in, in order to announce something as inane as the arrival of the owls. Hermione and Ron had the same viewing perspective as Harry did… he merely wanted to find a way to cease the incessant bickering between the two. However, once the two goaded Gryffindors looked at Harry, annoyed and expecting him to continue; he buckled under their stares and let out a meek, "Mail… it's here,"

Ron searched the ceiling for the tiny flitty creature that was his owl, Pigwidgeon. Hermione returned to her book, _Every Kneazle has a purpose_, and Harry too looked up for Hedwig. After a few moments, Pig fell into Ron's lap with a letter bigger than he was attached to his leg. Hedwig followed closely behind Pigwidgeon; however, she gracefully descended from the ceiling and landed on Harry's arm. She had a copy of the Daily Prophet; which Harry followed his standard routine of tossing it aside, once he noticed that there was nothing today, pertaining to Voldemort's ascension.

Just as Harry was about to leave the Great Hall, to go back up to his room to get his school books, another owl; a dark russet one landed before his feet. Harry recognised this owl as Remus Lupin's. He detached the rather thick envelope from its leg, and curiously tore the seal.

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you fairing on your first day? I expect that you will not have even started yet by the time you get this letter, but answer that question after school. I am writing you because I have a special bit of news I think might interest you. I have been looking into schools for you over the summer, because I would suppose that in your home you have no… time to research such a thing. Fortunately, I came across a remarkable Wizarding College. Bilcron University is meant mainly for the aspiring Auror, or rather, its teachings are in the field of protecting others from harm. Enclosed within this package is a brochure with information on the school's class options and grounds, and a list of the required marks for each class, and scores from this year's N.E.W.T.S. I am aware that it is the beginning of the year, however, I suspect that before long, you will begin to worry about this sort of thing. If you have any questions, any at all, or if you should find any need to just talk about life after Hogwarts, do not hesitate to owl me. Everyone down in the Order says 'hello'. Have a splendid year, and please at least take a look at these leaflets. _

_Well Wishes,_

_ Remus Lupin_

Harry tipped Lupin's owl two sickles from his robe pocket, and continued to walk to the common room. For the passed two years or so, people always seemed to be genuinely worried about Harry, but no one could ever seem to tell him the exact reason _why_. No one bothered to help him either… with the exception of a lackluster brochure, and a list of grade requirements Harry knew he could never meet. Either way… he did not plan to go to a university next year… he had more important things in store.

Without even taking out the rest of the papers Lupin had given him, Harry tossed the entire letter into his nightstand drawer. He knew Lupin would ask him about it soon, but Harry would put off the thought of college for as long as he could manage.

Draco walked out of Divination, feeling a slight crick in his neck. Trelawney decided that because it was the beginning of the year and everyone in the class was in their seventh year, she would take the first couple of days to read each person in the class's palm in great detail. She wanted to predict what was to come in the nearby future, in order to allow the students to attempt to avoid any ordeals that may be coming their way. The very worst part about it was that she taught it in front of the entire class, in order to allow them to learn to read palms as well. It was humourous, Draco had to admit, to witness Anthony Goldstine attempting to hide the tears welling up in his eyes, when Trelawney predicted he would be working at the Leaky Cauldron after he left Hogwarts, until he retired, at the age of eighty-seven and a half years old.

Since last year had been another disaster in the DADA dept., there would yet again, be a new teacher. Draco smirked. Perhaps Professor McGonagall was better at choosing Defense teachers than Dumbledore had been.

Draco ambled into the DADA room, and sat between Blaise, and Parvati Patil. Neither Crabbe, nor Goyle had the O.W.L.S. to enter into DADA in seventh year. He peered around the room, to see who which Gryffindors had made it to the class. Thomas, Finnegan, Longbottom; (there's a surprise), Patil, Weasley, Granger, and… Potter.

When Potty noticed Draco's eyes on him, he glanced up, only half bothering to fill his gaze with the odium that had once been so legitimate. Draco quickly turned back around. The very last thing he needed was for Potter to start going soft on him, merely because he had… problems fulfilling his task the year before. He would be the laughing stock of the Death Eaters, if the Boy-who-shouldn't-have-lived began to take pity on him. He nearly gagged at the thought.

Draco glanced at the clock at the front of the classroom. Class should have started two minutes before, but there was no teacher at the desk. However, as if on cue, the door swung open, admitting a very pale, harassed looking witch, carrying an overlarge pile of papers. She seemed extremely out of breath, her floppy celestial witch's hat askew. She looked to be in her mid to late thirties, and wore strange, deep blue robes, matching her hat.

"Er—sorry, I lost track of time. I suppose that makes me fashionably late," there were a few, weak, pity laughs throughout the room. Just as she placed the papers on the desk, they slipped off, spilling into and unorganized pile on the floor. "Oh," she glanced at the papers, then waved a hand at haphazardly at them. "No one get that… do not worry yourselves."

"What a dolt," whispered Blaise. Draco laughed.

The witch looked at Blaise, curiously. "Was there something you wanted to say? I didn't hear—" for a moment, Draco thought that she had just pulled a McGonagall, and truly knew exactly what Blaise had said, and was merely waiting to see if he would confess. However, her curiosity appeared genuine.

Draco stifled another chortle, pretending to be coughing, in a very obvious manner. The witch did not seem to catch that, either. Blaise merely starred, hiding a smirk by raising both eyebrows. "No, Ma'am."

"Oh," the witch scanned the rest of the room. "Er—morning everyone. My name is Professor O'Shire, and I will be teaching The Defense Against the Dark Arts class, this year—er—obviously. I am glad to be here today, and I am hoping that I can live up to the fine line of DADA teachers you have all gone through." She strained a forced smile.

Was she serious?

"Let us begin… with our lesson plan straight away… since I accidentally delayed all of you, I do apologise for that—"

O'Shire knelt down to where her papers had fallen, and began to rummage through them. She pulled out two pieces of parchment, laid them onto the desk, and continued to rummage, until she came across a green folder, with a fresh notebook inside, that looked as though it were about to fall out. She tossed that notebook onto her desk as well, and stood up straight.

After she took attendance with the first piece of parchment, O'Shire waited silently for the entire room to quiet down. She did not even call for silence. She merely waited.

"Right, well—" O'Shire pulled the notebook from the folder, and opened it to the first page. "Because this year is your last year at Hogwarts… the Ministry of Magic requires that all students taking DADA to take part in a group project." Professor O'Shire picked up the second piece of parchment, and began to read aloud. "_As students will soon be graduating from Hogwarts, knowing how to defend themselves is imperative. However, knowing how to defend oneself should have already been accomplished, and mastered by the seventh year. That is why, a new selection of units in the course Defense Against the Dark Arts has just been created, for seventh years. For the school year of 1998-1999, students will study the art of 'Partnership Scenarios'. New tactics will be tested, where mock situations are set up for two people. One person must remain in 'danger', while the other finds a way out of it for their partner, by means of any magic they have knowledge of, and permission to use. No extraordinarily dangerous creatures will be used during this course, however, creatures such as boggarts, mabapies, or any other manageable ersatz beasts available will be used throughout—' _Any questions, so far?"

Draco turned around in his chair. Granger's hand was waving in the air, of course.

"Er—yes Miss—" O'Shire looked at the attendance sheet. "Granger?"

"Are mabapies entirely safe to use for defense training? They are known to be rather vicious…"

"First off… who else knows about the mabapie… just so I can be clear on how to go about an explanation."

Granger raised her hand again. Evidently, no one else knew, or at least no one else bothered to raise their hand.

Professor O'Shire beamed. "Alright, then Miss Granger. You appear adamant to share your own explanation on mabapies… please, take it away,"

Granger put that annoying haughty smirk on, and took a breath. "The mabapie is a close cousin to that of a boggart, however, instead of transforming into a person's fears, it instead turns into the beast that it thinks would be most likely beat the person it faces. It can then inflict any damage upon the person that the beast it imitates can. Fortunately, it can be trained to turn into a certain beast when called upon as one. Often used for Auror trainings… but I haven't ever heard of it being used for classroom study. Unlike boggarts, it is often just _as_ powerful as the beast it imitates… that can be very dangerous—"

"Do you think that your intelligence is no match for a beast, Granger? Are you frightened that something might insult your nonexistent 'dignity?'" leered Draco. She glared heatedly at him.

O'Shire glanced uncomfortably from Draco to Granger. "Er—Miss Granger," said O'Shire. "With the mabapie… perhaps you know about a—"

"Of course!" shouted Granger. "Like the boggart, the mabapie can be warded off with one simple spell. _Trankkulous_. It causes the mabapie to fall over, defeated, and asleep. Once it is asleep, it turns into a harmless ball of smoke… wizards can also learned how to summon the mabapie back to a specific place… once it has been defeated…"

"Exactly, five points to Gryffindor. And just as Miss Granger pointed out, the mabapies can be thrust back to a specific place, once they change back." The witch waved her hand towards a row of half a dozen black wooden boxes behind her desk on the window ledge. Covering every square inch of each of the boxes was an ancient looking scripture engraved into the box, and painted over in a sort of damask coloured paint. "Professor Flitwick lent me these boxes for the year. Specifically meant for Mabapies and Boggarts. Anything can get into them, but once the box is closed, nothing can escape from them, unless removed by something else…"

She walked over to the set of boxes, "I will pass one around, so that everyone can get a good look, but I must ask you to not try and open them… I have the key, but it does not mean—"

CLUNK.

"Oh my," Professor O'Shire's cumbersome sleeve got in the way, and had pushed one of the mabapie boxes onto the ground. She awkwardly picked it back up, and examined it. "Silly thing's made of wood… oh well, its not too damaged… it will be alright." A small, yet noticeable splint of wood had begun its formation where the box made contact with the floor. "Erm—perhaps it would be best, if I did not pass the mabapie container around right now… you all can see what it looks like from your seats—"She placed the box back onto the ledge and looked around at the class.

"And as I presume that you all know you should not use the simple _trankkulous _charm to send the mabapie on its way during class time… you must use any other charms and spells you would see fit for the destruction of the beast the mabapie mocks. This, also, will send it back into its container—oh… I nearly forgot to mention… _trankkulous can _indeed be used if the defender cannot come up with a good enough spell to defeat it, and their partner is in danger… however, you will not move onto the next level of defense for that day, if you do decide to take use this way," O'Shire smiled sheepishly. "Can you imagine what would happen if I forgot to mention that? Some of you would have ended up in the hospital wing, perhaps baring a little more than cuts and bruises… maybe some of you would have even ended up in the mourge…" she mumbled the last part, so that it was barely even audible to those students in the front.

"You mean, this maba—whatever can actually _kill_ us?" Draco sneered.

"Er—potentially, yes… but worry not, young man. I will be watching each of the groups as carefully as I can, to make sure that no one is harmed…"

"Oh, and I'm sure you'll be a big help," said Draco, not even making the effort to hide the scorn in his voice.

"Yes, I certainly hope to be," she said, taking no notice to his sarcasm.

Blaise stifled yet another laugh, as O'Shire continued to discuss the activities planned for the year. When only five minutes remained in the period, she picked up the attendance sheet, once again.

"Now," she pulled an odd looking crimson quill from the pocket of her robes. "It's time to choose partners for the course."

Draco looked at Blaise, and they nodded to each other in understanding. Everyone else around the room also began speaking in light whispers.

"Right then," O'Shire sat in her desk, and set the attendance down before her. She then stood the quill up above the attendance sheet, where its tip hovered a centimetre or two from the parchment. "Oh, of course," the witch pulled an inkpot full of clear liquid from another pocket in her robes. She pulled off the cork, and dipped the quill into the liquid. Again, she allowed it to hover above the attendance sheet.

"What exactly is that?" asked Dean Thomas, referring to the quill.

"An Enchanted Quill," said Professor O'Shire. "It is going to choose your partners for you."

"And why can't we do that ourselves?" asked Blaise.

"The Quill knows best, Mr.—Zabini."

Draco watched anxiously, hoping that he wouldn't end up with a Gryffindor… or Pansy.

"_Enervate" _The quill sped around the page, until it made two distinct X marks onto the parchment. "Ah—our first partners are… Parvati Patil, and Pansy Parkinson. Whoa, that's a lot of P's."

O'Shire continued to repeat the process, every time the quill landed on two different names, Draco became more and more uneasy. Longbottom was paired with Potter, good. He wouldn't have to worry about dealing with either one of them. Ron was paired with Seamus. That was good, as well. He sat in his chair, listening to the rest of the pairings. But when Blaise was paired with Thomas, Draco did not even want to think about who was left. He loathed every other person in that classroom.

"Draco Malfoy," he attempted to appear calm… "and—Hermione Granger. Well, that was the last pair—"

"What!" Draco stood up, quickly glancing over to Granger. Her mouth hung open, all of the colour had drained from her face.

"What, what?" asked Professor O'Shire, clearly confused to why a student would decide to stand up and shout in front of the entire classroom.

"I _refuse_ to be with that—"

"One moment, please, young man. Class is dismissed. Everyone, have a nice first day! No homework, for tonight…"

As the rest of the students started to clear out of the room, Draco walked up to O'Shire's desk. He was not surprised to see that the Mudblood had decided to stay after, as well. She walked over to the opposite end of the desk, so as to be as far away from Draco as possible.

"Good bye!" O'Shire called, cheerfully, to the rest of the class. Then she walked over to the papers she had spilled at the beginning of the period, and began to pick them up. "Now… it appears that you have a problem with the person you are partnered with, Mr… what was it, again?"

"Her—" Draco pointed at Granger, the disgusted look on his face made it appear as though Granger where a filthy cockroach that had just walked out from underneath the desk she stood next to.

"Mr. Her?"

"No! my name is Malfoy… I cannot work with _her_!"

"Professor O'Shire, I must agree with him… for once. Malfoy and I have never been on good terms… I think it would be best if we were paired with different people…" Granger knelt down beside Professor O'Shire and began to help her pick up the rest of the loose parchment.

"I cannot change the groups. They have already been decided…"

"But Professor, I do not know if it would even be… _safe_ if Malfoy and I were paired together. He might… choose not to save me during these partnership exercises…"

"Damn right, I wouldn't save that Mudblood—"

"I hardly think there is any reason for such foul language Mr. Malfoy." said O'Shire, picking up the last of the papers and piling them back onto the desk.

"But don't you see?" said Granger, too eager to even scowl at Draco's name calling. "We should not be partners…"

"As I have stated, the groups cannot be changed,"

"Why not?" asked Draco through clenched teeth. He was becoming more and more annoyed by the second.

"Because it would not be fair to the other students, obviously. And because the Enchanted Quill has decided that you two shall work together … I cannot change that… see?" She showed them the attendance sheet. Each pair of students had colour matching X's before their names. "You see? You, Mr. Malfoy, you have a sort of goldenrod coloured X next to your name, which matches your goldenrod X, Miss Granger… And see here, Mr. Finnegan and Mr. Weasley each have red X's before each of their names. That is how we know who is who's part—"

"I can _see_ that, but why can you not just—"

"Perhaps the Quill heard your remark towards Miss Granger before, and thought that the two of you needed a challenge. I cannot blame it for wanting to teach you a lesson on how to treat people with proper respect…"

"A quill can't hear things! And even if it could, it can't make 'educated' decisions in attempt to test the morale of students…"

"I find that a fairly strange comment coming from a boy who attends a school that uses a talking hat to decide which house to place each student in." said Professor O'Shire.

"Evidently, _this_ quill has no idea what it is doing… I suggest you retire it for a new one…" said Draco animatedly.

"This quill _is_ new…"

"Please Professor! Just ask it again…" started Granger.

"I'll have to go through the entire list again… and you two have classes to go to—"

"Just do it!" said Draco, absolutely at his wits last end.

"Al-alright… there is no reason to get angry…" Professor O'Shire repeated the entire process, once more of dipping the Enchanted Quill into the clear inkpot. Each time she shouted "_Enervate!_" the quill placed each of the same partners together with each of the same colours. Finally, it marked over the already yellow-orange X's before Draco and Granger's names.

"You see?" said O'Shire. "It cannot be altered… now please, would you two go to your classes?"

Draco made sure that he was out of the room before Granger. If that twit of a teacher refused to change his partner… perhaps the headmistress would.

**Well there you have it! Chapter two is finished!**

**Discussing the Little HBP Problem**

Because of Draco's little incident in HBP, my story seemed as though it was shot… however, I am going to make the best of the situation. I suppose Snape has absolutely no chance of returning; its early on in the story, so I should attempt to be as loyal to Mother Plot as I can. Perhaps Draco convinced McGonagall, (New Headmistress), that he had changed his ways after his little show at the end of book six… either way, he has done no such thing, just yet, (changed his ways)… but that is for a different story entirely, and this story was already running before HBP, so I am sorry for the slight inaccuracy. Also, in my fic, most of the characters are taking their N.E.W.T.S. courses. This is where the plot gets a bit dodgy. I started this chapter before HBP as well, and I hope this outlook on everyone attending similar classes doesn't irritate any readers.

If anyone is offended or annoyed by that possible slight inaccuracy or any other inaccuracies pertaining to the students' classes, then I am sorry. Its not going to change though! Maniacal laughter Did I mention that there was also going to be a complex with Hermione and Ron? Maybe I thought that was a given… I didn't mention that there was going to be a bit of Harry/Luna too. Just a bit… it wont rule the story. This is a Hr/D, remember? Have patience.

PS- Thanks for those of you that reviewed!

LilyEvans0- I'm really glad that someone agrees with me on the vindictive Draco thing! I think that there should be an entire section in dedicated to his cruelty! Sigh…

ProphetCassandra- You'd be better off reading this than not, because if you decided not to, you would hear about it from me! Keep watching the telly before you sleep, just to be safe.

Review, if you so desire. Creative criticism and compliments happily accepted!

-Becca


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